Family
by AmazinglyMe
Summary: Peter reflects on the fact that he's misplaced Edmund. He's an idiot, but he's an idiot that's related to me. Slightly Movie based, but nothing that couldn't also be applied to the books. Oneshot. Susan, Edmund, and Lucy added. More to come.
1. Peter

**A/N: Well, I've just seen the Narnia movie, which prompted me to reread the books, which I realized I hadn't read in ages. So here's the product of that. I'm thinking about writing a oneshot from everybody's point of view (all the Pevensie's I mean). So please read and review.**

Idiot. He had to go and wander off. Does he even realize what he's doing, how selfish he's being, running off like this, in someplace we know nothing about? If he **does** know, he's a little beast for doing it, and if he doesn't, he's an idiot. Either way, when I catch up with him, I'm going to kill him.

If he's not dead already.

That's what Susan thinks, that he's dead. She's being very calm and logical about it, saying things like "well if you look at it logically" and "use your **head** Peter." Skirting the issue, not saying it aloud, but thinking it. And as the oldest, I suppose I ought to be "using my head." But occasionally, that proves a bit difficult.

This is my fault. I should have watched out for him more. I should have been watching out for all of them more. I'm the oldest. I'm supposed to be able to look out for them. Maybe that ought to be Susan. People always call her "sensible" or "logical" or say that she's got a "good head on her shoulders." I suppose they say those things about me too, sometimes, but about her, they mean it just a bit more, and that bit seems to make all the difference. I suppose if Susan had her way, she would have turned us around the minute we'd come into Narnia and taken us back home. But I saw an adventure, and a responsibility.

So she didn't have her way, and now this is on my shoulders.

Mr. Beaver thinks Edmund's a traitor. He probably is, the little rotter. But that's partly my fault to I guess. I suppose I shouldn't have been so hard on him. Well I know I shouldn't have. But I didn't think anything like this would happen. Back when I was hard on him, we were just kids, fooling about and making fun of each other, not future monarchs of a magical land, fulfillers of a prophecy. Just kids. No one could have known that we'd go through the back of a wardrobe and into someplace like this? Narnia. And not just Narnia but a Narnia at war. A Narnia with an opportunity for...treachery. I couldn't know that - no one could. I may be the oldest, but that doesn't make me old.

I try to be, for Susan and Lucy - old that is. Well, grown up I mean. And that makes Susan think I'm trying to be bossy or like dad. I'm not exactly. I'm just trying to make sure I don't "misplace" anyone else.

People used to look at Edmund and me and see an older brother and a younger brother. Dad used to tell me Ed was jealous of me, Mum used to say he looked up to me. I used to think neither was true, I used to get mad at him. Really mad. Because he was being a little prat, and nasty to people. I'm not sure that was my right. But I did it anyway, and now he's run off, betrayed us to the White Witch. I just hope I can get to him in time.

Because that's the rub - no matter what Susan says, or how many times she tells me to look at the situation logically, I refuse to believe he's dead. Because he can't be dead before I get the chance to save him. I owe that to him, and to everyone else. I owe it to myself too I suppose, but more than anything, I owe it to him. There are times when he was at that nasty school he went to when he could have used my help, or my advice, or just a compliment, and I didn't give it to him - I was to hard on him. So I owe it to him to rescue him, no matter what the logical, sensible, calm, odds are.

I'm the oldest, and I'm going to look after Susan and Lucy, and I'm going to bring us all to this Aslan. And once we get there, I'm going to help save Edmund. I don't know how yet, and I don't know what it'll take. But I'm going to do it.

He's an idiot, but he's my brother, and he's not the only idiot in the family. Maybe we can all cure our idiocy. But we'll do it together.

**A/N: Um, did that come out as if Peter's jealous of Susan? Because I don't really think he is, and if that's how it sounded, please let me know? Other than that, please let me know what you thought! Thanks! **


	2. Susan

_A/N: Short, I know. Maybe I'll rewrite it later. But yes, this is Susan's. Next will be Edmund's, then Lucy (theoretically). And after that, well, tell me if you have any ideas for other characters to do oneshots for._

**Susan**

Everyone always thinks I'm so logical. Sometimes I wish I wasn't. So logical I mean. So…sensible. Because it means that whether or not I want to, I'm always facing facts. Seeing the most likely course events - whether they're events I want to happen or not. Adults always look at me and smile. They tended to pat me on the head, or, once I got older, shake my hand, and say things to Mum and Dad like, "She's such an adult" or "So sensible - it's wonderful how _grounded _she is. Her head's certainly not in the clouds like some children." And Mum and Dad always simply glow, like they're the ones being complimented, not me. Which, on careful, **logical** consideration, is probably true.

That's what I hate about it, see?

I can't avoid that ugly truth.

I know that Peter sees those truths, but somehow he's better equipped than me to deal with it, or, I don't know, forget about it. I mean, right now I can tell he's seeing those ugly truths - Edmund's gone and he's blaming himself for it. But I can also tell that he still thinks he can rescue Edmund, and I just can't seem to convince myself of that. Maybe that's my problem - I'm not convincing enough. Peter won't listen to me, and I won't even listen to myself.

But that won't get me anywhere. Or any of us anywhere.

And there it goes again.

I can't even really appreciate this world for what it is, because whatever else it is, it's certainly not logical.

I can tell that Edmund is most likely dead, and I hate that. Being so certain about that. Beyond the fact that he's my brother of course. That's killing me - and all of us. But I'm the only one who really thinks he's dead, and I _hate_ that.

I hate all of this. This entire thing. All this **logic**.

Most of the time I don't mind it so much. Back in the "real world" I don't mind it so much. When there's an actual use for it, a use that I don't mind it so much. But here, this logic only serves to make me feel terrible, and to annoy Peter beyond belief, because he doesn't want to hear what I'm saying.

Still, this logic also tells me that Peter will insist on going off on this quest to rescue Edmund, and, in defiance of my logic, I will certainly be going with him.

No amount of common sense, reason, odds, rationale, or **logic** will change my mind about that.

My logic tells me, grudgingly, that that's one battle I've won.

_A/N: Please tell me what you thought. :) Review! Review! Review! Er, please. Yeah._


	3. Edmund

_A/N: Edmund's piece. I'll keep this short and sweet: let me know what you think of it please!_

**Edmund**

It's so cold here.

I can't feel my fingers or toes. Who makes a dungeon all of ice anyway? Stupid idea.

I suppose _she_ does.

I know that if I'd listened to Peter and the rest I wouldn't be here. I hate that. Listening to stupid old Peter's never worked before, why should it work just now, when I don't want it to at all? It isn't fair. None of this is.

I also, for the record, know that I sound like spoiled child. Well, maybe I do, but I'm trapped in a cold, gloomy, **freezing** dungeon while Peter and Susan and Lucy are probably out with those beavers having the time of their lives.

Only, of course, I know they're not.

They're probably running for their lives, and it's my fault I suppose. Well, it is. My fault I mean. There really isn't a doubt about it. I came here, and then ran here, to _her_ and told her where to find them. I daresay she's found them by now.

At first I wanted _her_ to find them. She promised they'd be my servants, and I couldn't resist the thought of Peter kneeling in front of me, after what a git he'd been. But now I realize (to late) that I've led her to her prey. She's going to kill them. And then me I suppose.

I'm frighteningly detached about the idea of dying. I think my brain's frozen solid along with my toes. But Peter (he's an idiot, but he's my brother) and Susan and Lucy don't deserve to die. They thought they were just coming along for a little adventure. They don't deserve to be caught in the middle of something like this.

Neither do I, but it's my own fault.

I guess being numb and about to die combined make you a lot more, er, I think the word I'm looking for is _noble_. Yeah. A lot more _noble_ than you ever were before. I don't think that's very fair. If I'm going to be noble, I'd like to have a bit more time to do it in.

The littlest things (like that) are getting to me, because I just can't get it through my head that the others are going to be…dead.

It's like reading a book, and one of your favorite characters _seems_ to die in some strange accident, but you convince yourself he hasn't really died, that it was some kind of clever plot twist, and that he'll be back later. So it's not as if he's really died at all.

Only this isn't a book, and Peter and Susan and Lu aren't plot twists. They're people.

And _she_ knows it.

Because of me.

It seems that guilt can penetrate even frostbite.

Oh! There's a _faun_ here!

…

**Finis**

_A/N: Tell me if I got Edmund right? I'm not sure how good I am at writing him… Thanks for reading, and please review!_


	4. Lucy

_A/N: Sorry about the long wait! Hope this helps make up for it. I know it's short, but I did my best. :) _

* * *

It was me that brought us all here. 

I found the wardrobe. I met Mr. Tumnus. I insisted it existed and now it does exist.

And I don't regret it.

I really don't. I don't regret coming here. Is that wrong? Edmund's been captured by that nasty White Witch, but I know we can find him. We're heroes here. Of course we can find him. And after that we'll go meet Aslan and save this whole big beautiful place. And then we can come here whenever we want, sort of like a holiday.

Of course, I'm worried about Edmund. I mean, he is my brother, though he was being a bit of a beast. But we'll rescue him, so that's alright. And of course it was scary, being chased by those wolves. But we got away didn't we?

And it is a bit uncomfortable, slogging over all this ice, but it'll be okay.

…

Sometimes I wonder who I'm kidding. I feel like I've gotten years and years older since we came here, and not only in a good way, though it hasn't been all bad. The Lucy that thought that everything would be okay just because it has to be, because it must be. Just _because_. That Lucy was enjoying her lovely holiday in Narnia, and then Edmund ran off and now he's captured and we're running away from wolves that talk (and they don't talk nicely either) and I don't know what's going to happen to us next because somewhere along the line I've realized that there is no guarantee that it will be good. What happens next I mean.

I'm scared.

Old Lucy was so certain that Peter and Susan and even Edmund could do almost anything, get us out of any scrape, but Peter looks frightened and Susan hasn't said a word. I don't know what they're thinking, but I don't think I want to know. I don't want to know that they can't do anything about all this any more then I can.

I still think we'll do something about it. The question is if it will work. I never had any question about that before.

There is only one thing that is still the same between this new, frightened, older Lucy and the one that arrived here in Narnia, delighted and amazed, is that delight. I'm still not sorry we've come here. I love it here. And we're supposed to save it. That's our job. There's a prophecy and everything.

It's like something out of a fairy tale.

In the fairy tales, the heroes always live happily ever after.

I really hope this is like a fairy tale.

I'm worried out of my mind about Edmund, I just know he's alive now (I just **know**) and if we go fast enough we _can_ get to him. I wonder though if we can rescue him.

…

Of _course_ we can! We have to! He is our brother, and we'll find him, and then we'll all save this place, and make it so the snow melts and Santa Claus comes and we can come here all the time and be heroes and play with fauns and dance with druids. It's going to be the most lovely thing, and we're going to do it.

…

And here's another one of those differences between the old Lucy and this new Lucy: after all that, I think "probably."

Old Lucy would be certain that all that would happen.

New Lucy wonders more then a bit.

I miss Old Lucy, but if New Lucy can help save Narnia then New Lucy belongs.

* * *

_A/N: I often forget how very young Lucy is, and I tried my best to reflect that. So, did I succeed? Was it good? Terrible? Have something totally different and/or random to point out to me? Please do so! ;P _  



	5. Edmund Revisited

_A/N: Whoo-hoo, it's Edmund. This is a particular scene from the movie (which I saw again) that I figured had some possiblities, so here it is. Let me know if you think it belongs here among the "Family" oneshots. If people don't think it fits, I will remove it and put it on its own. As it is...   
_

_

* * *

"I will speak with you alone." _

_The great lion turned and went back into his tent. He was not hurried -- regal was the word for it. His golden mane shone for a minute in the entrance to his tent and then disappeared inside. The White Witch hesitated for a moment and then followed, and though she was a queen of ice, she was not regal like Aslan. She was like a cheap imitation. _

_But as she passed him, Edmund shivered_.

That had been what seemed like ages ago now. Edmund pulled up the grass that lay in front of him in little handfuls, ripping away at the green, velvety stuff in his anxiety. Surely… Surely the White Witch would not wish for him as a prisoner? He was nothing. A small boy who had been no use to her at all. Why had she returned for him then? Why did she wish to reclaim him?

Was he going to die?

He looked over at Lucy to find that her hands too were pulling away at the grass, her little had looking steadily down at the ground between her legs, her eyes narrowed in concentration and worry. Susan was far less obvious about it, as she was about everything, but her thumb was tapping against her index finger and if she bit her lip any harder it would bleed.

And then there was Peter.

Peter wasn't moving at all. He sat, staring at the hilt of his sword every thing about him speaking of perfect stillness. That was what was so strange. Peter was always moving. His thumbs twiddled or his head tilted to on side or the other, or his foot jiggled. But here and now, he was not moving at all, his back tense and his sword held perfectly upright in his hands.

_"Just you try and take him then!" The words sprang out of Peter's mouth and his sword came up to back them, his eyes snapping with anger and fear. He was rather a frightening sight, and Edmund's stomach tensed and then… _

_**She** laughed. Utter dismissal lay there under that forced laugh and Edmund's insides suffered a sudden frost and withered and died all at once. _

Edmund almost smiled as he remembered Peter's angry words in his defense. He couldn't help but think he didn't deserve such defending and yet, he was not so noble or righteous as to think he deserved to die. He couldn't bring himself to wish for his own death, not even because he had…**betrayed**, this country. It made him all the more furious with himself, that he could not wish for his own death after what he had done. He did deserve it. He **did**.

But then he thought of ice cream on hot, sticky, summer afternoons and bike rides with Peter and laughter with Susan, and games of hide and seek with Lucy. He thought of finally meeting Mr. Tumnus properly. He thought of crossword puzzles, which he'd always been good at for some reason. And after this the thought of dying at the hands of that imperious, cold woman who was now speaking in a cold, low, voice in Aslan's tent, was unbearable.

He stared at the door of the tent, thinking he saw a ripple in the cloth, his stomach jumping, but no, it was only the wind.

Was he going to die?

The worst part was not his stomach, which threatened to show him his delicious breakfast all over again, nor his hands, which felt like if they didn't keep moving they might explode with nervous energy, nor even the guilt he felt when he looked at Peter, willing to defend him after all that had happened.

The worse part was his neck.

He could still remember what it had been like to be bound to the trunk of a tree. He could still hear the sound of a great knife being sharpened, feel the hot breath of the dwarf as he chuckled nastily at him. He could see the tall figure of the White Witch, looking down at him as he might look down at a slug, and simply nodding disgustedly, nodding away his life.

He had never felt cold metal on his neck, but he could anticipate it.

And with every moment that passed he could feel the pressure of a blade on the back of his neck, where the hair ended, and just before his shirt began, pressing down and down and down and then --!

He involuntarily drew in a huge breath, almost afraid that it would be his last. Lucy glanced over and placed a hand on his knee, looking worried. He just kept tearing away at the grass.

Was he going to die?

There was a commotion at the door of the tent. Edmund's head jerked up as though someone had shouted his name in his ear and he knew, without looking, that Peter and Susan and Lu had all looked up too. His heart did not beat more rapidly -- he suspected it might have stopped beating all together. His hands clenched around a handful of grass so hard his knuckles grew white.

The White Witch walked out first, her head held high and her face unreadable and then…

Was he really going to die? Was he really going to die? Oh please, oh please, ohpleaseohpleaseohplease no…

And he very suddenly realized how very very much he wanted to live, live, live, live, **live**.

"She has forsaken her claim to the Son of Adam's blood."

And suddenly the world was the most beautiful place in the world and his siblings glowing faces were only a part of what was the best moment of his life, and the grass could stay just where it was. His fingers slowly unclenched and muscles he hadn't even known you could tense suddenly relaxed. His breath came out in a great whoosh of air and he realized that his heart was suddenly beating very fast indeed.

**He wasn't going to die.**

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**_A/N: Did you think it was good? Bad? You could care less? Tell me all about it. Constructive crit. much appreciated. :)_**  
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